


When All The Colors Bleed Into One

by MooseFeels



Series: In the Kingdom Come [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, cabin in the woods, high school/college age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone moves into the big house across the lake, and Sam and Dean Winchester get pulled into a family drama they could have never seen coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All The Colors Bleed Into One

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to elatrometer, felafelllama, and ashesinyourhair for getting me through writing this.

There was a huge house on the other side of the lake, far bigger than the cabin where Dean and Sam lived.

They’d been given the cabin by a friend of their father. John had started spending more and more time away from them, and after a hell of a fight, Bobby had insisted that they had somewhere permanent. Somewhere safe.

“The road is no place to raise two boys,” Bobby had barked, “and I won’t have them forgotten in some hotel!”

A few days later, John had left them in the cabin and driven off in a car that wasn’t the Impala.

And that was how Sam knew, however distantly and however vaguely, that he would never see his father again.

* * *

 

Spring was coming- hell, spring was here, and with it came lots of tourists and lots of extra work for Dean. He’d gotten his GED a year ago, and it more than qualified him for grounds work with the rangers. Every morning, he woke up and made breakfast and lunch for Sam and drove his brother to school and worked with the rangers.

This morning would have been no different had Sam not looked out the window and said, “Hey, there are cars at the big house.”

“If you don’t eat your eggs soon they’ll get cold,” Dean answered.

Sam rolled his eyes- Dean didn’t have to see it to know that he had- and replied, “I eat eggs every day, jerk. We’ve never had new neighbors before.”

Dean looked away from the bacon to peer out of the window. “They’re not moving in,” he said. “They’re just coming back. Probably vacationers here for spring break.

"Still," Sam said.

"Come on, eat up, you'll be late for class," he urged as he slid two slightly burnt pieces of bacon onto a plate.

“Don’t have class,” Sam replied. “I’m on spring break. I thought I’d told you.” He shoveled a pile of scrambled eggs into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I was thinking I could work on the boat some while you’re at work.”

The boat had become something of a project for the two of them, a weekend distraction. Sam enjoyed the research and the measurement and the math of it, whereas Dean enjoyed working with his hands and shaping the wood into long, smooth planks. He enjoyed thinking about what they would name the boat, enjoyed the easy conversation about vessels from books they’d read. Liked going over stories with Sam.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll try and sneak off early and see if you need any help. No power tools, eh?” He filled his thermos and grabbed his bacon sandwich.

“Don’t work too hard,” Sam called after him.

“Never do!” Dean replied.

The day was cool and the dew left the air moist and soft on Dean’s skin. He shrugged into a flannel shirt over his olive-green tee and hiked out towards the ranger’s station.

Their cabin connected to the main road that ran around the lake, and while Dean did love the long and easy drives, the hike to the ranger’s office was a crucial part of his day. It was as if there was a texture to the forest around the lake, an attitude that changed every day. He could tell, some days- could read it in the trees- if someone was going to break their leg on a trail or if a bunch of high-schoolers (probably his age or older) left a campground a wreck.

This wasn’t one of those days though. The forest was still and calm, cool and green. The only sound was the clashing of birdsong and the crunchcrunchcrunch of ground under his feet.

When he got to the station-a small office nestled towards the entrance of the lake park- there seemed to be quite the fuss.

Ash, the head ranger, was not laid out on his desk as usual but instead was standing, hands in pockets.

“Ash,” Dean said. “What’s up? Not used to seeing you without a smoke in your mouth.”

Ash nervously bit at his lips. “You know that big house across the lake? Miltons moved back in.”

Dean punched his clock and pushed his nametag back into his shirt. “So?” He said. “What are they, some too-big-for-their britches tech inheritance railroad magnate?”

There was a cough from the doorway. A red haired woman stood there, lounging through the space like a tiger through a sunbeam.

“The Milton family,” she said, “were coalminers until the 1890’s Michael Milton took his small family from their homestead in Virginia to the West coast, where he founded a media empire that today includes Flaming Sword Films and Tablet Papers. You might be more familiar with the name,” her eyes flicked downward to look at his nametag, “Dean, from the name of the lake and park that keeps you employed.”

And it clicked, suddenly.

Lake Milton.

Dean smiled easily, trying desperately to hide his screw up. “I’m sorry ma’am, I hadn’t put the pieces together. Dad always said my brother got the brains and I got all the good looks. Are you coming through town or are you-”

“I’m moving in,” she interrupted. “I had just come to get the key to the house gate from Ash here.”

She came fully into the room as Ash pulled an envelope from his front pocket and handed it over to her.

“Here you are, Miss Anna,” Ash murmured.

“Thank you,” she replied primly.

She was leaving as Dean called, “Was a pleasure meeting  you Miss Anna.”

She stopped in her tracks and turned to look at Dean, glaring.

“That would be Miss Milton, if it’s all the same to you,” she answered before turning back around on her heel and dashing off.

Dean ran his hands through his short hair, scratching at the back of his head.

“Shee-it, son,” Ash said. “You’ve fucked up but good, ain’tcha.”

Dean had not read that in the forest this morning.

* * *

 

Sam showered and brushed his teeth after breakfast, happy to have the house to himself.  Because Dean still picked him up from school, he didn’t get much time to himself in their cabin, and it was good to have the whole, quiet place to be loud in on his own.

Not that Sam didn’t love Dean, but he was thirteen. He would be a man soon. He needed his space sometimes.

He dried off and threw on his clothes and grabbed his stereo and headed out to the rough shed that he and Dean were building the boat in.

The shed was definitely more of Dean’s space than his. Dean was a tactile/kinesthetic learner, or at least that’s what all of the teachers he’d been with (however briefly) had said. He felt things and saw things and made things. He had trouble seeing how numbers would make boats sometimes- had trouble lifting the ephemera from paper and making it wood.

That was okay though. Sam wasn’t too good with the power tools.

He flicked on the light and plugged in the radio and tuned in to whatever station it would pick up- some weird jazz station- and sat down and absently started going over the schematics.

The boat wasn’t much- just a little row boat that would have white sides. Dean, as a joke, had begun to work on a figurehead for it, and it sat near the careful line drawings Sam had made.

Dean had roughly cut a few pieces with the intention of refining them a bit by shaving and sanding them down, so Sam grabbed the plane and began to work on shaving the pieces so they would sit more flush.

He made a few passes along a plank before he noticed that the razor was not in far enough.

Sam pulled it from the work to adjust the screw when the razor slipped and slid into his thumb.

“Agh!” He hissed and bared his teeth at the pain. He shut his eyes and inhaled and exhaled slowly and clearly, trying to clear his brain, trying to shut out the alarm bells that were ringing so that he could root out what he was supposed to do.

And then he heard a knock on the door.

“Um, hello?” Someone said. “I was walking by and I heard someone shout- is everything alright?”

“Fine!” Sam cried aloud, his voice cracking around the word. “I just got cut, I’m alright.”

He turned around, clutching at his hand, to greet the stranger.

He was older than Sam, maybe as old as Dean and of a slight frame. He had dark hair that seemed determined to stick up in every possible direction. He was pale, with serious blue eyes.

He cocked his head to the side while looking at Sam’s hand. “You’re not fine,” he said gravely. His voice was deep and thick.

“No, really,” Sam answered, trying hide the pain in his voice. “I mean it, I’ll be okay.”

The stranger shook his head. “No you won’t. The way the...the shape of the cut, you need stitches. My sisters, they might be able to help.” He looked up from Sam’s hand and stared at him, clean in the eyes. “I’m Castiel.”

“Sam,” he replied, trying to keep his breath regular. “Are you sure? I mean, it doesn’t look that-”

“It looks that bad,” Castiel interrupted. “We’ve moved in just across the lake. I’ll call my sister Jo.  She’ll know what to do.”

“No, really, I’ll be-” he began, but Castiel, this stranger, already had his phone out.

“Jo,” he said, “I’m across the lake, at the little cabin. Listen, someone here is hurt- Soon? Thank you.”

He hung up and turned back to Sam. “Let’s at least try to get this cleaned. Have you ever had an injury like this one before?”

“Couple times,” Sam answered. “I’ve got first aid experience, I can take care of it until my brother gets home. I’ll be alright, I promise.”

“Jo’s a nurse,” Castiel said. “She’s very experienced, I promise. Do you think you can get to a sink?”

Finally, Sam gave in. “Yeah,” he said. “This way.”

Castiel moved deliberately and observed their cabin sharply, like a hawk. He tugged a chair over to the kitchen sink and helped Sam sit down.

“How are you feeling? Are you dizzy?” he asked.

Sam shook his head. “No, I’m alright, I promise. I’ve had worse, it just stings. We’ve got a first aid kit in the hall closet. It’ll probably have disinfectant.”

Castiel nodded and headed down the hallway. Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Dean.

“This,” Dean said, “is a terrible time, Sammy.”

“I was working with the plane and the razor slipped,” Sam said. “I cut my thumb.”

“How deep is it? How long ago did it happen? Are you okay? Do you still have a thumb?” Dean drilled instantly.

“Yeah, it’s still attached, I’m okay. Someone was walking by though and they’re getting help. He said his sister is a nurse-”

“I’ll be right there,” Dean interrupted before hanging up.

Sam sighed heavily. “You know,” he muttered at his phone, “panic was the exact opposite of what you were supposed to do.”

Castiel came back in with the first aid kit. He placed it on the table and pulled out a bottle of peroxide. “You know, this kit is far more thorough than I would have anticipated.”

Sam shrugged. “Dean and I grew up on the road. We don’t have insurance and do most of the doctoring ourselves.”

“Dean?” Castiel asked with the raise of an eyebrow.

Sam hissed under the tickling burn of the hydrogen peroxide. “My older brother,” he explained. “Our mom and dad are out of the picture.”

Castiel nodded. “I see. Still, I wouldn’t anticipate a first aid kit with morphine or IV bags.”

Sam had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

There was a knock on the front door and a woman called, “Castiel! Are you in there?”

“That’ll be Jo,” Castiel said. “Is it okay that she comes in?”

“Well, seeing as you’re already here, I don’t see how it could hurt,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes.

Jo turned out to be older than Castiel; older than Dean, probably. She was carrying a clean, white first aid kit of her own and looked slightly flustered in her jeans and t-shirt and cowboy boots.

“I’m Sam,” he introduced.

“Hi, Sam,” she said. “I’m Jo. How you holdin’ up?” She pulled the other chair to the sink near him and gingerly took his hand.

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad. I was working with the plane and the razor slipped. It’s not that big a deal and my brother should be here soon and he’s good at this sort of thing and-”

Jo looked up and cocked an eyebrow. “Is your brother a doctor?”

Sam huffed slightly. “Well, no-”

“Then I’ve got this under control, alright?” she said, her question not as much a question as a politely phrased command.

“Yes ma’am,” Sam answered.

“What are you,” she chatted as she looked over the cut, “in the service?”

Sam looked away from his hand, where Jo’s cool and competent hands carefully examined him. “Dad was,” he explained. “He was strict.”

“I’m glad Castiel found you,” she plunged on. “This is serious, and if it didn’t get stitched up properly-”

“I’m telling you, Dean and I have been in accidents all the time and he takes care of me just fine!” Sam shouted.

“Sam, are you okay?” Dean barked from the front door, of course selecting this moment to come home.

“In the kitchen,” Sam called. “I’ve got company.”

Dean was flushed from running and looked around at the strangers before settling on Sam’s hand. “What the hell happened?” He asked, voice dropping volume sharply.

“He was using the plane,” Castiel said for Sam. “The razor slipped. I was walking by and I heard him and called my sister, Jo. I’m Castiel.”

    Dean’s gaze moved Sam’s hand to Castiel.

    “Who the hell are you?” He gruffly asked.

    Castiel’s eyes made a fight heavenward before circling back down to earth. “Castiel,” he pointed to himself. “Jo,” he pointed to his sister. “Injury, needs assistance,” he pointed at Sam. “Can we please at least get him stitched up?”

    “Yeah, sure,” Dean said. “We’ve got a pretty great first aid kit, I’ll get it and-”

    “I’m a nurse,” Jo interrupted. “And if you can hold Sam’s other hand, I would like to please get this done.”

    “Dean,” Sam said.

    “Hey, hey, hey,” Dean said, heading over to Sam. “Alright, that’s fair. Do ya’ll have any painkillers in his system? Anything?”

    Sam shook his head. “No,” he answered.

    “We’ll give him something once I’ve got this over with,” Jo said, pulling from her own kit a needle and surgical thread. “Although he should really go to a hospital, especially if he wants something that will do more than blunt this.”

    “Can’t,” Dean answers. “No insurance. Can’t afford ER visits.”

    “I’ll be fine,” Sam reiterated. “We’ve been through worse.”

    The room became tense and silent as Jo carefully stitched the cut up, and when she was done she carefully bandaged his hand.

    “There,” she said. “All good. I’ll assume you guys know about aftercare?” Her tone was imperious.

    “Dean,” Sam said.

    “Yeah,” Dean said, helping his brother up, “Yeah, I got you.”

    “Well, you’re welcome,” Jo said.

    “Oh,” Dean replied. “Oh, yes, we’re welcome. We’re welcome that two strangers came into our house and demanded control of a situation we could have handled ourselves. We’re welcome that you’re here and didn’t let us take care of this. We’re welcome we’re beholden to yo-”

    “Dean,” Sam said.

    Dean glowered at both of them before helping Sam towards the back of the house.

    Castiel sighed heavily and looked at his sister.

    “What the hell,” she murmured as she packed up her kit.

    “Jo, be fair,”  Castiel commented as he took the kit from her. “We did help, but they did make it very clear that they would have rather handled this on their own. You wouldn’t have taken it.”

  

* * *

Dean pulled a bottle from the medicine cabinet and shook out a pill. He handed it to Sam with a glass of water. “Glad you at least had breakfast,” he said. “These are hell on an empty stomach.”

Sam smiled weakly before taking the pill and downing it. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I should have been more careful.”

Dean shook his head. “Nah,” he answered. “Probably would have done it myself, and then I woulda wound up with crooked stitches.”

Sam shuffled from the bathroom to the living room, which was dominated by an ancient couch. “I stitch beautifully and you know it, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean replied, tossing his brother a blanket. The pill would kick in quickly and make Sam tired- they always did. The adrenaline crash was already beginning to come. “Gonna go talk to our visitors,” he said before heading into the kitchen.

“Be good,” Sam called after him.

The two of them looked like they were about to split, and the guy- who was maybe a year or so younger than Dean- looked up when he came into the kitchen and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on your lives. I was concerned that your brother would not be alright and I-”

“It’s okay,” Dean interrupted. “Honestly, I’m sorry I overreacted.”

The woman- Jo?- started to talk, and the guy spoke over her. “That’s not necessary.”

The woman shot the guy a look- Yes, it is necessary, it said.

“You made it very clear, several times, that you would have rather handled this yourselves, and we did not listen,” he said, shooting a look back at his sister. “We apologize for not respecting the sanctity of your space.”

“Aw, geez,” Dean said. “Ya’ll were just trying to help. And you did.” He turned to the woman. “You do beautiful work. Couldn’t have done it as clean as you did. I’m sorry I shouted. Sam is my little brother and it gets me pretty riled up when he gets hurt.”

He extended his hand outward. “Maybe we should get to know each other on friendlier terms?”

There was a chill pause before she took his hand and said, “Jo Milton.”

And wasn’t that shit just Dean’s fucking luck.

“Milton,” he said. “Big house, across the water. Milton. Lake Milton Milton.”

Jo nodded. “Yes, that’s us.”

“Oh fuck me,” Dean said. “I mean, shit, I mean, god, I’m sorry, Miss Milton, you’ll probably want to get back to unpacking, you’re busy people.” As he babbled, he opened the door from the kitchen back outside and ushered them briskly from the house.

“Wait, wait, wait,” the guy said.

“What?” Dean asked, exasperated.

    The guy extended his hand forward, took Dean’s, and said, “I’m Castiel.”

    Dean looked at Castiel and registered his features for the first time. A mussed halo of dark hair, two bright blue eyes, sharp collarbones peeking out of a button down shirt.

    “Nice to meet you, Mr. Milton,” Dean said before firmly shutting the door, locking it, and sinking down into a kitchen chair.

    Three. He’d managed to piss off three of his bosses in one day. He inhaled slowly and cleanly before picking up the paper that Sam had brought in yesterday and turning to the classifieds. It couldn’t hurt to start looking for another job now.

* * *

    “What the hell,” Jo said when they were out of hearing range of the house. “I mean, I get overreacting to us stitching up his brother- okay, wait no I don’t. Castiel, what in hell did you drag me into?”

    The walk back around the lake to their house was long, but the path was easy. Sticks and leaves crashed heavily under their feet, and Jo swung her first aid kit.

    “I’m sorry,” Castiel said. “He just...he was in pain and I didn’t know what else to do.”

    Jo was five years older than he was, but after Castiel hit his growth spurt at fifteen, she was shorter. That was two years ago, but fifteen years of big sisterly affection won out over two of freakish height, and she threw her free hand over his shoulder even if it was desperately uncomfortable for the both of them.

    “Did you see a mom or a dad?” Jo asked. “Any sign of them?”

    Castiel shook his head. “No. Sam, the younger brother, he said they weren’t around. ‘Out of the picture’ I think was what he said.”

    Jo nodded grimly. “Keep an eye on them,” she said.

    Castiel raised an eyebrow.

    Jo shrugged. “People from healthy families don’t generally know how to stitch each other up like that. Aren’t usually so thorough with first aid. Usually not that protective either.”

    Castiel nodded with the chilly knowledge.

* * *

 

   Sam woke up again at about nine that night, starving and with a sore hand. He stretched up and off of the couch and walked into the kitchen.  

    Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a paper open and reviewing it with a highlighter, his lip caught between his teeth in thought. Half of a pizza sat before him.

    “I’m surprised your new friends didn’t stick around,” Sam said. “Ya’ll were doing so well.”

    “Oh you just missed them,” Dean said, smiling boyishly. “They realized they had an appointment with the Vanderbilts and decided to leave, though. How are you feeling?”

    Sam shrugged. “It aches. Feels like a cut.”

    Dean nodded. “You seemed really spooked by it this afternoon.” He folded the paper back and tucked his highlighter behind his ear. “You’re usually a little more together. Everything okay?”

    Sam nodded. “Looking at them freaks me out. Usually they’re on my legs or back. It doesn’t really happen on my hands that much. Usually easier to ignore.” He grabbed a slice of pizza with his right hand, trying to keep his left hand clean. “I’m sorry,” he said around a bite. “ Didn’t mean to make it harder.”

    Dean winced. He’d tried, he really had, to keep between his brother and the danger, but sometimes, he did fall behind. Sometimes they went for Sammy first. “That won’t be happening any more, okay?” Dean said. “I mean it. We’re done with that.”

    “I know,” Sam replied, smiling. “I don’t have to be scared any more.”

    Dean grabbed a slice of pizza and leaned back in his chair. “So,” he said, “other than this, how’s your spring break been so far?”

* * *

 

    The house on the lake was different from their house in the city, but Father had insisted that he head out with Anna and Jo. Boy your age, he had said, time he headed out of the city. Saw some things. Presumably, those things lived in the woods near the lake.

    The house was Anna’s now- she’s always held it dear in her heart, but when she’s graduated from college three years ago, she’d had to stay in the city. Now that she’d established herself firmly enough at the magazine, she could be let loose from a leash in the city to go out to the country and write. Jo had taken a job the hospital in town nearby, and Castiel was...adrift. He’d graduated early, but he’d not yet made a plan for college or a job.

    After dinner, he headed back to his room and laid back on his bed. He read in the fading light until it became too dark to make sense of the words. He sighed and folded his book closed, moving through the grey light to place it back on the shelf.

    He spied across the water bright lights, golden windows emerging out of a stranger’s house.

    Castiel placed the book and glanced at his telescope. It pointed out of his window and towards the sky.

    He guiltily bit his lips before he sat down on his desk chair and looked out across the water.

    It took a minute to orient the telescope properly, but once he did, it didn’t take long to figure out that the house across the water belonged to the people from this afternoon- Dean and Sam.

    The elder brother, Dean, he sat at the kitchen table, eating with one hand and wielding a highlighter with another. Every so often, his lips would move faintly around a word, concentrating.

    He was beautiful. He looked grown and real and golden. It looked like he had been born in the sun and never quite come inside- his skin was tanned and freckled, his hair was shot through with blonde, even his eyes were the green of things that loved the sun. He’d noticed in the kitchen. He’d noticed and he’d wanted.

    Castiel pulled away from the telescope and stared back up at his ceiling.

    “What are you doing?” He murmured.

* * *

 

    Sam shuffled off to his bedroom at around ten, still loopy from the pain meds, and Dean read the paper until the words swam in front of his eyes and disconnected from meaning. He tacked the paper up on the fridge and made a note to himself to start calling around tomorrow. Chances are, they wouldn’t wait around too long to get rid of him. He was just glad they would at least get to keep the cabin. Keep their home.

    He headed back to his small room and slid out of his clothes. Snuck back into the bathroom to wash his face. Lay in bed and tried not think of every dumbass thing he’d done today. Tried not to think of having to talk to Sam about it.

    Tried desperately to sleep.

    It was hard though, hard in a way it hadn’t been since Dad had driven off a few months ago.

    It happened whenever he was stressed. He would sleep, or try to at least, and then they would show back up. The people that weren’t people, the animals that weren’t animals, the things that made noises deep in the woods. Of course, these would all melt back into the fire.

    He was never sure how much of the fire was remembered or dreamed at this point. He was never sure how much of it he actually saw. When he tried to articulate it, something inside of him froze and wouldn’t move. He had trouble breathing, had trouble talking, had trouble moving, and it wouldn’t go away for a long long time.

    The fire visited him tonight.

    He dreamed it like it was something he could feel- hot licks of flame incongruously reaching for him from above. Felt the smoke in his lungs. Felt his little brother too heavy in his arms. Felt everything.

    Wait, he heard someone say, and he turned around.

    He woke up, no screams trapped in his body, no silence eager to pour from him either. Only the fuzzy, foreign impression of blueness.

    He glanced over at his clock and stretched out of bed. Six o’clock was as good a time as any to wake up.

* * *

 

   

    Castiel had always been an early riser, and pulled himself out of bed at seven o’clock. He dressed in his jogging clothes and shoes and headed out.

    The sun was already up, but the wood was still cool and damp from the night and the dew. He jogged a little faster than usual to hold some warmth in his blood, and felt his face flush with the movement. It felt good to move. He loved to jog. It made it easy to escape his brain and just do. If it warmed up today, he might even brave the lake and swim a bit.

    He turned to look at the sun over the water when he ran into something.

    “Fuck!” he cried, shocked, and as he stood, he realized he’d run into a rather petite blonde woman. She frowned at him as he tried to gather himself before she jogged on.

    “I’m sorry,” he called after her. He ran his fingers through his hair.

    He heard someone chuckling behind him.

    Castiel turned around, and it was him, from yesterday. Dean.

    He smiled at Castiel and nodded a greeting. “Very smooth, Mr. Milton,” he greeted.

    Castiel sighed briefly. “Why do you call me that?” he asked. “I’m Castiel, I told you.”

    Dean pointed to a name-badge over his breast. Dean Winchester, it read in burgundy letters. “I’m an employee,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to offend.”

    Castiel cocked his head to the side. “You work here?” he asked.

    Dean nodded. “I had a run-in with your sister yesterday and she preferred Ms. Milton to her given name. I guess I’d assumed it was a family trait.”

    “Oh,” Castiel said. “Oh yes, I think Anna had mentioned you.”

    Dean froze, devastated. “Listen,” he said. “If ya’ll want to go ahead and fire me, I understand, but if you could just give me a good recommendation, I’d stay out of your hair. This is the only real job I’ve ever had and they’re hard to come by and-”

    “Fire you?” Castiel replied, aghast. “She’s never intended to fire you. Sure she was a little miffed, but you didn’t do anything wrong. Not really.”

    Dean looked visibly relieved. “Are you sure? Geez, Cas, that’s a load off my mind. I mean, I just,” he ran his hand through his short hair before letting it fall back down. “We’ve got enough happening right now without me having to look for a new job.”

    “I’m sorry you were so sure you were fired,” Castiel said, walking easily down the path.

    Dean was carrying a large bucket that couldn’t have been light, but their walk was so lazy and easy that they walked more or less side by side. “I shouldn’t have been rude,” Dean replied.

    “Your bucket,” Castiel said. “What’s in it?”

    Dean smiled boyishly, and the way it lit up his face made Castiel feel very warm. “Nightcrawlers,” he answered, lifting the lid to display a fragrant mass of wriggling worms. “We sell them at the bait spot, but the delivery truck just brings them up to the ranger’s office. Not too bad a walk to carry them.”

    Castiel wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I see,” he said.

    Dean laughed, a big noise from deep in his belly. “They’re gross, but they’re not too bad. No stingers or scary chompers, you know?”

    “Well when you put it that way they don’t sound so bad at all,” he said.

    “So where do you hail from?” Dean asked. “You’re probably on break from school, yeah?”

    Castiel shook his head. “No, I graduated a couple of months ago. I’m here helping Anna and Jo move in while I figure out what I’m doing.”

    Dean nodded absently. “Probably headed to college in the fall then, eh?”

    Castiel had never been so grateful to run into Anna in his life.

    “Castiel,” she greeted as she pulled her headphones out of her ears, “Do you need any help?”

    “Oh, no,” he replied. “No, I was just talking to Dean.”

    “Good Mornin’, Ms. Milton,” Dean greeted.

    She looked at Dean blankly before saying, “Whyever for, Castiel?”

    “Anna, don’t be that way,” Castiel groaned. “He made a mistake, but he’s been quite kind to me and I’d rather you didn’t embarrass me in front of my friends.”

Anna looked at Castiel with sharp eyes. Dean felt something crackle between Castiel and his sister- some exchange between their eyes.

Anna finally turned and said to Dean, "I apologize. I'm terribly sorry I was so rude to my little brother's acquaintance. I do hope we can put this behind us." She extended her hand.

Dean took it and shook firmly. "Aw, Ms. Milton, there's nothing to apologize for. I'm sorry I was so rude back at the ranger's station."

           Anna smiled like the cat that had eaten the canary and said, "I hope this isn't the last time I run into you, Dean."  And jogged off.

           Dean was confident she was out of earshot when he exclaimed, "Jesus Christ, Cas, your sister scares me more than any woman I've ever met." He lugged the bucket forward a bit. "And I grew up on the road."

           Castiel laughed. "She's...a force of nature. Kind of started running the family after Mother died."  He kicked a clod of dirt, and it bounced two, three times before settling off the path. "Your brother said that- that you'd 'grown up on the road.' What does that mean?”

    “Dad worked all over the place,” he answered. “And where he went, we went. Didn’t really settle anywhere permanently until we wound up here.”

    “Your father, where is he now?” He asked.

    “On a job,” Dean answered certainly. “He’s gonna be working for a while, and a family friend set us up here so Sam can be at school. Can be normal. Have friends.” He shifted the bucket in his hand and glanced over at Castiel, grinning mischievously. “Speaking of, ‘my friend?’”

    Castiel looked down at his shoes, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said.

    “Don’t be,” Dean answered, laughing. “It’s fine. It’s more than fine. It’s great, actually.” He started down a divergent path, going closer to the water and the bait shack. “I’ll see you around, Cas.”

    And Castiel smiled desperate and hopeless and fucked around the words.

* * *

 

   

    Dean dropped off the worms at the bait shack and started heading back to the ranger’s office. The walk was quieter this time without Castiel’s company, but it was still pleasant.

    He thought briefly on the terrifying Milton sisters, but his mind focused back to Castiel, with his dark hair and bright eyes and easy smile. Dean tried to stay calm, but could not help but be glad in his knowledge that Castiel considered him his friend. Felt weirdly warm.

    There was the low halo of voices from incoming tourists, and it filled the spaces between the birdsong. The weave and weft of sound made the walk fly quickly by, and soon the rangers office came into view.

    “Hey, Ash,” Dean said, coming into the office. “What do you have for me next?”

    Ash laid down his clipboard, frowning. “Campers,” he drawled. His accent was thick, calling to mind trailer parks and denim cutoffs. It was wrong though- Ash was brilliant. Had even been kicked out of MIT. “They haven’t checked out of their site yet. Wanna go make sure they ain’t been axe-murdered?”

    “Will do,” Dean said, grabbing the requisite forms and heading out the door.

* * *

 

    Dean had laid out a couple of pills for Sam on the kitchen counter, next to a bowl of cereal he’d poured for Sam. Sam was grateful for the thought. His left hand ached and he hadn’t yet mastered opening pill bottles with one hand.

    The medicine cleared away the ache, but it did make him feel lethargic, so he grabbed a book before heading out of the house and to the hammock. He and Dean had hung it a short walk from the cabin in the woods, and it caught enough sun to be comfortable and bright.

    He was lying in the hammock, curled around The Odyssey when Dean ran out of the woods, pale with fear.

    “Dean?” Sam asked. “What’s wrong?”

    “Salt,” he said. “Salt the windows. Salt the doors.”

    Sam felt his stomach fall out of body. “No,” he said. “No, don’t. No, we were safe, we were safe, we were-”

    Dean leaned over the hammock and grabbed Sam into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

* * *

 

    It was a couple, on their own spring break. They’d come out camping and then something had happened.

    There was so much blood.

    Dean had called Ash to tell him, and then he had to find Sammy. The scene, it had made something in him thrum tight and hot and made him hurt. He knew in the part of him that wasn’t some dumb animal that Sammy wasn’t there, that he was smart, that he had done this and he knew- he knew how to handle himself. It didn’t speak loud enough against the storm of panic that had swelled up to prevent him from running back to the house. Running back to Sam.

    It had been hours before the cops had decided to talk to him, which was time enough for them to pull the box from out of the closet.

    Dad had insisted they have it, even though Dean had argued, long and hard.

    We don’t do that anymore. That’s not us.

    The rock salt went down in front of every window, along every doorway, and especially thick in the window in Dean’s bedroom, where Sam had silently laid out a cot. A horseshoe above the front door and the back door. An iron crowbar tucked quietly under the bed. A gun on the nightstand under a bible.

    They both went over the exorcisms and the rites until their voices cracked.

    When the sheriff swaggered to their cabin, Dean had been sure to take his shitty cell phone with him, and Sam had been sure to check the line of salt as he left.

    It was almost worse like this, Sam thought. To have had it and then lose it than to have never been normal at all.

* * *

 

    The local sheriff was a short man. He was long full grown and into his thirties, but he stood a good head shorter than Dean. He had hair that was too long for an official position and golden eyes.

    He made Dean feel profoundly uncomfortable.

    “So, Mr. Winchester,” the sheriff said. “Tell me ‘bout what you saw.”

    Dean looked off in remembering, studying the mounted trout on the wall behind the sheriff. Dean had been insistent, and Ash had supported him, that he not leave the park grounds without his brother. The interview- “It’s just an interview, Mr. Winchester, nothing more-” was in the employee lounge in the back of the office.

    The trout was long and fine, and its colors shifted out of pale yellow-white to deep forest green, flecked through with brown. It had a strange way, Dean was beginning to notice, of looking insulted. Too good for it’s own nakedness.

    “Campsite J-8 is a bit deeper into the woods, not too far a hike from the caves. They hadn’t checked out yet, which isn’t unusual. Most people don’t- don’t think about it. Just want to get home,” Dean swallowed roughly and shifted nervously under the critical and glassy gaze of the trout. “Ash told me to go check it out so we could fill out our paperwork, and so I did. About a fifteen minute walk, if you’re walking easy and not carrying much, and I was there.”

    The sheriff was leaning back in his chair, feet on the table. He wore cowboy boots, and the intricate embroidery of them showed a sword on fire.

    “The woods, the forest, they make sounds, Sheriff. They sing, and the first thing I noticed at the campsite was that it was just too quiet.” The air in the room felt too dry, felt dusty. “No birds, no bugs, no other campers. Nothing.”

    The sheriff stood up and grabbed a stained mug from the sink. He filled it from the tap and slid it over to Dean. Dean nodded in thanks.

    He took a sip of water. “Their tent was still there, but the silhouette- the way it stood in the air- was all wrong. Like it was weighed down by something. I walked fifty paces from the birch at the corner of the campsite to their tent and-”

    There was so much blood, he wanted to say. Like someone had been painting and decided that everything but those two, neat little circles in the middle needed that blood.

    The words froze in him, though, froze and did not want to come unstuck.

    He and the sheriff sat there in the stuttering silence until the sheriff said, “Thank you for your help. If we need to talk to you some more, I’ll give you a call, alright?”

    Dean nodded and stepped out of the room.

    “Hey,” Ash said as Dean was walking out the door. “If you need some time off, let me know, okay?”

    Dean nodded and walked back to the cabin.

* * *

 

    They’d apparently been campers, on a honeymoon or something. The sheriff’s office had told Anna it was a bear. Jo had her doubts. The dinner table was tense with the disagreement.

    “Anna, I’m telling you, I’ve seen bear attacks. Not a lot, but enough to know that bears can’t make all the blood explode out of a person and take the bodies without tracks,” she said as she ate bit of chicken.

    “The sheriff’s office told us bears,” Anna said. “I’m inclined to believe them.”

    The dish was of Anna’s creation, something she was experimenting with for the magazine. It involved a store-bought baked chicken, leftover glazed carrots, and curry powder. Castiel thought it had potential, if it was a bit salty.

    Jo rolled her eyes. “Anna, come on just-”

    “If it’s not bears, what is it?” Anna said. “What could it be? What do we want to think it is instead?” She laid down her fork and knife, and looked across the table at her sister. “Aliens? Ghosts?”

    “Excuse me,” Castiel said, and cleared his plate from the table.

    When he’d gotten home from his run, he’d had to handle a multitude of panicked phone calls, all at once- first Jo and then Anna and then Father- and he hadn’t yet decompressed from the stress of it. Apparently, a ranger had found something in the woods and what he had found had evolved throughout the day.

    Castiel hadn’t seen the campsite, and he felt deep down that he did not want to.

    He washed his plate and utensils before slipping out of the back door to sit on the dock.

    It was chilly outside, and he wrapped his arms around his torso. He knew if he went inside, he wouldn’t be allowed out for the rest of the evening, and he wanted to dodge his sisters’ argument.

    “Does it matter,” he said to no one, “if it’s a bear or not?”

    He dangled his legs in the water until his skin felt too cold and too tight and wandered back inside.

    Every light was on in the cabin across the water.

* * *

 

    Sam had moved the camping cot in, but they slept in the same bed that night. It was a reflex of living in cheap motels to be surprised when you were the only person on your narrow twin bed. They kept the lights on. They kept the gun next to the bed.

    The house had been silent since Dean came back from the interview. Dean did this sometimes, just pulled in and wanted to be quiet for a little while. Didn’t want the radio or the black-and-white tv, just wanted quiet. Sam was okay with that, and he grabbed a worn out copy of The Hobbit for Dean and a thoroughly abused To Kill A Mockingbird for himself.

    They curled up together and read, and it was a little easier to pretend that they were safe in the silence.

* * *

 

    Castiel woke up the next morning to the pervading smell of yeast. It eased through every nook and cranny of the house and filled him with the idea of the heaviness of bread. Another one of Anna’s experiments, he was sure.

    He stretched and shuffled out of bed and threw himself in the shower, the hot water a balm on his sore muscles. Between the jog and lugging heavy boxes, he was left sore and stretched out. The hot water felt like dozens of little fingers rooting through his hair, scratching his scalp. He sighed into it. By the time he had shut off the water, he felt loose and good.

    Castiel was toweling out his hair when he saw it, and he double taked to  make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

    He saw himself in the mirror, frowning, but he also saw, written through the steam, Believe.

    He felt his heartbeat speed before he shook his head and wiped it away, going back to his room to get dressed.

    He pulled a light pink v-neck and a pair of navy shorts from the first open box he could find, and he shrugged into the clothes easily. He was sliding his belt on when he saw the note from Jo- a post-it she’d left on his window.

    Check on the boys across the lake, it said. Make sure his hand is healing right.

    He smiled faintly at the note, glad to have an excuse to see them again.

* * *

 

    Dean was midway through cooking breakfast when the knock came on the front door. He looked across the kitchen to his brother and raised his eyebrow.

    Sam shook his head. “I don’t have any visitors today.”

    Dean was speaking again, but it was tentative and soft. He’d be alright in a couple of days, but for now he seemed like he needed a little more care. Like he needed the world to be a little softer.

    He opened the door, and Castiel was there.

    “Good morning,” he said. “My sister, Jo, she wanted me to come and check on your hand. Is that alright?”

    Dean nodded. “Come in,” he said. “Have you had breakfast?”

    Castiel nodded. “Yes,” he answered as he sat at the table, near Sam. “Anna is working on some new danish recipe and needed guinea pigs.”

    Dean smiled. “So do you, or do you not want bacon?”

    “Yes please,” Castiel answered, blushing.

    It eased something inside of Sam to see that Dean was feeling good enough to have a virtual stranger in the house, and to smile and talk to them. He slid two plates in front of them. Two eggs, sunny side up and three strips of bacon each.

    Castiel looked quizzically at the eggs before starting in on the food. “Thank you,” he said.

    Dean shrugged in response as he dropped two more eggs into the skillet.

    Castiel ate delicately, like a bird. He was midway through his first egg as Sam finished and Dean sat down at the table with his own eggs.

    “Did you not want any bacon?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head. “Nah,” he answered. “You’re a guest.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side and smiled. “That’s very kind of you,” he said.

“Just good manners,” Dean replied.

Castiel turned to Sam and said, “May I?” He gestured to Sam’s left hand

Sam nodded and let Castiel peel back the bandages. The stitches were clean and the cut wasn’t swelling or producing fluid. “You’ve done a good job caring for this,” he said. “It looks like it’s healing well.”

“Not our first rodeo,” Sam said, grinning.

Castiel re-wrapped the bandage over Sam’s hand. “What do you think of what happened yesterday?” He asked. “The authorities are telling us it’s a bear.”

Sam glanced over at Dean.

“No reason to believe it’s not,” he said. “What else could it be?”

Castiel looked at his own hands, looked at the wood grain of the table. “Jo saw the scene. She said that...it looked like they’d been...that all of their blood had been taken out and that there weren’t any tracks.” He bit his lip. “Bears don’t do that.”

Dean got up from the table and walked to the back of the house.

Sam looked at Castiel. “He found them,” he said.

The color drained out of Castiel’s face. “He did? Is he okay? I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”

“We’ve been,” Sam paused, looking for the right words.

We’ve been doing this our whole lives. We know exactly what this is. We’re taking care of it. We thought we were done, we didn’t want to do this anymore, we were going to be normal and safe, and now we can’t be that anymore. It’s taking normal away from us and it hurts.

“We’ve been a little freaked out, but we’ll manage,” he finally said.

“Yesterday, you said you’d been through worse,” Castiel said softly.

“Please leave,” Dean said. He stood in the doorway that lead through to the back of the house.

    Castiel looked at Dean. He looked hurt, like something in him was breaking a little.

    “Okay,” he said, getting up. “I’m sorry.” He slipped out of the door and headed back into the woods.

    Dean’s eyes fluttered closed and he sighed.

    “Come on,” he said. “Need to head to the library.”  He grabbed a jacket and tossed one to his brother. “Bears don’t do that.”

    “He didn’t mean anything,” Sam said. “He didn’t mean to-”

    “I know,” Dean said. “They never do.”

    Sam remembered a couple of times he and and Dean and Dad had driven off in the middle of the night. Remembered a few kind eyed school counselors and probing questions.

    He shrugged into his jacket and they climbed into the impala.

* * *

 

    Castiel ran home. He ran home and he changed into his running clothes and started running and did not stop.

    Idiot, he thought. What the hell is wrong with you? What the hell?

    His sneakered feet slapped against the trails, and he tried desperately to pick up the kind of rhythm that would drive himself out of his head and make him feel like he wasn’t such a goddamn idiot.

    It was hard, but he kept going. He felt lungs burning and muscles aching, felt like he was slowly falling apart, slowly dying but he had to keep going. Had to keep moving, because anything else...the thought of going back made him feel like he would die very immediately.

    In fact, every step forward made him feel dizzier and heavier. It was as if his blood was heavy and every rush of it was too loud in his ears, a drum that hit too close. He kept moving, he had to keep moving, but then his foot hit the ground the wrong way and it twisted and he fell and he looked at his hands and he thought, distantly, thought heavily- Bears don’t do this.

* * *

 

    They’d spent all afternoon at the library, Sam running through books and Dean gathering them for Sam. It was a system that worked for them- Dean could charm his way into any section - sensitive documents or not- and Sam could throw together information solidly and easily.

    They’d been there about two or three hours before Sam said, “So get this.”

    And Dean knew they were hot on the trail.

    They’d made a few photocopies and had a slew of notes, and when they drove home, Sam began to flesh it out.

    “Handful of people have drowned here, but the numbers step off sharply after about twenty or so years ago,” he said. “I have a feeling though that is might have to do with a cult that was centered here in the early twentieth century. They had a thing about blood, some weird occultist type of shit.”

    “How do you know it’s a spirit and not something they might have summoned?” Dean asked.

    “I took a look at their literature,” he answered. “It’s all Aleister Crowley stuff. I don’t think they could give someone a cold if they sneezed in their mouth.”

    The drive back from the library was short, and they whipped into the road leading to the cabin quickly. They would have driven right by if Sam hadn’t looked up in that exact moment.

    “Dean, wait!” He shouted, and Dean slammed on the breaks.

    “What?” He said, and Sam dived out of the car and ran off the path.

    Dean climbed out of the car and froze when he saw him.

    Castiel was curled up in a tight ball off the path, hands clutching tightly at his ears. Sam was kneeling beside him, eagerly reciting exorcisms. Blood oozed lazily from Castiel’s nose and eyes- his wide open and staring eyes.

    He gasped and moaned like he had run out voice for screaming.

    “Cas!” Dean cried. “Cas!”

* * *

 

    When he woke up, he was in a bed he did not recognize in a house that was not his own. He blinked his eyes grittily several times. He felt sore all over.

    “Easy,” someone said. His voice was thick. “You’ve not been all here. Probably a little sore.”

    Castiel turned and looked over his shoulder at Dean, who was sitting on the couch across from him.

    “What happened?” he asked, and his voice cracked sore around the words.

    Dean smiled loosely, brokenly, and said, “I was hoping you could tell me.”

    Castiel moved to get up, but everything in him seemed to protest it.

    “Whoah, careful,” Dean chided. He helped Castiel sit upright and guided a glass of water into his hand. “We were driving back from the library and we saw you. You were off the path. Do you remember what happened after...after you left our house?”

    Castiel coughed heavily, and the taste of iron filled his mouth. “I went for a run,” he said hoarsely. “And I was running and everything got so heavy and then it just started hurting.” He looked up at Dean. “It hurt.”

    Dean looked at Castiel like all his heart was breaking. Looked like a little lost child.

    “I’m so sorry,” Dean said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from that. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect them, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

    Castiel reached forward and cupped Dean’s face, pulling him upward and into the light. “Why do you think this is your fault?” Castiel asked.

    His question was barely a whisper in the still room.

    As quickly as it had happened, Anna and Sam and Jo burst into the house and Dean turned away from Castiel’s touch and was up from the couch.

    “Castiel!” Anna cried and wrapped her arms around him. She kissed him on the forehead before holding his face between her hands and looking at his eyes, studying him intently. “What happened? How do you feel? What were you doing? What did you do?”

    Castiel started laughing and couldn’t stop. “Anna,” he said, “Anna, I’m okay now.”

    “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said in response.

    “No,” Jo retorted. “I will.”

    Anna scooted over, and Jo sat on the other side. “Sam described what looked like a seizure-”

    “It wasn’t,” Dean answered. “We’ve handled those, and it wasn’t a seizure. Wasn’t brought on by a concussion either. This isn’t...this is something that isn’t...natural.”

    “What the fuck are you on about?” Jo said as she pulled out her pen light.

    Sam stood near his brother. “Listen, bears don’t do that,” he said. “There weren’t any tracks, and there weren’t bodies. There was just...blood.”

    “They told us bears,” Anna said. “They told us bears and they wouldn’t lie.”

    Sam shook his head. “They weren’t lying, they just didn’t know. It’s something bigger than bears, it’s something worse, it’s something that’s going to hurt more people if we don’t figure it out and stop it.”

    “And what do you think is doing this?” Anna said sharply. “Werewolves? Vampires? Frankenstein?”

    “Frankenstein isn’t real and this isn’t the MO for werewolves or vampires,” Dean shot back. “We’re thinking a ghost.”

    Jo shut off her pen light and grabbed Castiel’s arm. “Come on,” she said. “We’re going.”

    “I felt it,” Castiel said.

    Anna leaned back and looked very grim. “What are you talking about?” She said.

    “It was there,” he continued. “It wasn’t a bear or a mountain lion or a wolf it was something...it was inside me.”

    “Alright,” Jo said, “We’re getting you to the hospital, we’re going to clean you up, we’re going to get you to a doctor-”

    “You grew up here, right?” Dean asked Anna. “Were there any stories you told as kids? Any ghosts that hung out under the docks? Someone whose name you said three times in a mirror and ran away?”

    Anna froze and said, “Lucifer.”

    “That’s a hell of a name to just be throwing around,” Dean replied.

    Anna rolled her eyes. “He was Michael Milton’s brother. He was...troubled. He drowned in the lake. When we were kids-”

    “Cave,” Jo said. “We would run into the cave and touch the headstone and run out.”

    “Why would you put a grave in a cave?” Sam asked.

    “He was very, very troubled,” Anna clarified. “Our family was very religious, and there were objections to putting him in the family plot.”

    “The cult,” Sam realized. “He lead the cult. Was there suspicion? Did it look...fishy?”

    “Of course there was,” Anna said. “But that doesn’t...that doesn’t...the family was respectable.”

    Dean shook his head. “That only means they had more to lose.”

    “Okay,” Jo said. “Okay, assuming that this is a ghost, what the hell do we do?”

    Sam and Dean both sighed heavily.

    “I’ll get the shovels,” Sam said.

    “We’ve got to burn his remains,” Dean said as Sam headed outside. “Purify the site once and for all. Iron, salt, fire,” he said, grimly. “Should be pretty standard.”

    “Standard?” Anna asked, an eyebrow raised. “There’s a standard for this?”

    “Well, yeah,” Dean replied as Sam came back into the room, a pair of shovels hefted over his shoulders. “I mean, if it’s a ghost- and we’re basically sure at this point that it is- it doesn’t like salt, iron, fire. That’s their kryptonite. We salted the windows as soon as it happened, and we haven’t had any problems.”

    “Have you run into anything unusual?” Sam asked. “Cold patches? Weird smells?”

    “In the mirror, this morning, written on the glass,” Castiel said. “Believe.”

    Dean and Sam both nodded. “Yeah, that sounds right,” Dean said. “Listen, we’ll head out, take care of it, be back before midnight.”

    “The hell you will!” Anna exclaimed.

    Dean and Sam both visibly jumped.

    “To think you will go and desecrate a family grave without a representative there,” she continued, “is unacceptable. I will of course, be joining you.”

    Sam had to suppress a laugh. He’d never seen Dean look quite so flustered in his life. “Ma’am,” Dean said. “Don’t take any offense, but you’re, well, you’re a civilian.”

    “What does that make you?” Castiel asked, frowning.

    “Hunters,” Sam answered. “I mean, we were. We’ve done this before, we can do it again.”

    It was as if a great deal of information suddenly made sense to the Miltons. “You’ve been through worse,” Castiel murmured.

    Dean shrugged.

    “Anyway,” Sam continued, “the only thing worse than digging a grave is digging a grave at night, so if you’re insisting, we’d best go ahead and get this thing going.”

    Anna stood to go with them, as did Jo and Castiel.

    “While I appreciate ya’ll’s enthusiasm, this is ridiculous,” Dean said. “There’s such a thing as too many.”

    “We’re a family,” Jo said. “I can’t let Anna go on her own, and I sure as hell can’t let Castiel stay by himself. What works as weapons?”

    Dean sighed, heavily. “Do ya’ll have guns?”

    Anna shook her head.

    “Of course,” Dean replied. “Iron, then. Crowbars, cast iron pans, whatever you feel confident swinging. They can’t touch it and they kind of...dissipate around it. Sammy, grab the crowbar and the .45.”

    “You own a gun?” Jo asked, alarmed.

    “Well, yeah,” Dean answered, as if this were obvious.

    “How old are you?” She asked.

    “Old enough,” Dean shot back as he Sam handed him his weapon and Jo the crowbar. “Sam was right, daylight’s a wastin’.”

* * *

 

    There was a terrible purpose to the Winchester brothers as they all left the house. There was a set to their faces, a weight that was more than a gun Castiel was sure was illegal. They hiked in silence.

    They came to the mouth of the cave soon enough, and Dean looked to Anna. “This it?” He asked. Anna nodded.

    “Is that all that there was to the story?” Sam asked. “Just run in an touch the headstone? Anything else we should know?”

    Anna nodded. “We weren’t terribly creative.”

    “No, that’s good,” Dean said. “Sometimes people start believing things and then it gets...hairier.”

    Sam visibly flinched.

    “Hey,” Dean said, looking at his brother, “you okay?”

    Sam nodded vigorously. “I’m okay,” he said resolutely. “I’m okay.”

    Dean gave Sam a steady, appraising look. “Okay,” he answered. “You need to step out, you step out. This isn’t hunting with Dad, you know that.”

    “I’m good,” Sam said, firmly.

    “So what do we do?” Castiel asked.

    Dean pointed to Castiel. “You try to be inconspicuous. It knows you, it’s already tried to get cozy with you. I’d like it if you lived through this.” He pointed to Anna, who had hefted the crowbar over her shoulder. “You keep an eye on your brother. If the ghost starts making a run for him, you start swinging.” He pointed to Jo. “You help me dig the grave.” He pointed to Sam. “You’ve got the salt and the fire.”

    “What if that goes wrong?” Jo asked.

    “You get out. You get you and yours out of there. Don’t worry about me,” he said. “That goes for you too, Sammy. Anything goes wrong, you’re not okay, you get out of there and you call Bobby,” he said sharply. “Now let’s go.”

* * *

 

    The inside of the cave was dark and cool, and the flashlight was safe weight in Sam’s hand. Dean had the .45 and Sam had the flashlight. There was something intensely familiar about this. The only thing missing was the constant, gruff warning of their father.

    “How far in is the grave?” Dean asked.

    “Not much farther,” Anna replied. “It never seemed this far.”

    Castiel suddenly grunted in the darkness. “Shit!” he hissed.

    Sam pointed the flashlight at him and then shot the beam downward. Across the floor of the cave, a statue of an angel stretched out, crumbling. Anna gasped.

    “That’s it,” she said softly.

    The angel had fallen from its base, not too far away. Dean looked at the grave and looked pointedly at Castiel and Anna. They backed away slowly, and Jo approached the grave apprehensively.

    “No turning back now,” Dean murmured and dug in.

    They got about three feet down before they hit the casket, and then something changed. The air got colder and the cave became too quiet. Terrible stillness hovered over everything.

    “Keep going,” Dean said. “Can’t stop now.”

    Michael, a voice hissed from the air. Michael, where are you?

    Everyone but Dean and Sam froze, utterly terrified. Sam thrust the flashlight into Jo’s hands and took the shovel, digging urgently.

    Michael, why did you leave me? The voice asked. The voice pleaded. The voice whined. Why did you leave me in the dark, brother?

    Castiel slid his hands over his ears, grimacing. The voice hurt. It slid cold and sharp over all of his senses and made it hard to breathe.

    “We’re almost there, Cas, just hold on,” Dean said, and he hoped Castiel could hear him. “You’re doing great.”

    I thought you loved me, the voice said. I thought you loved me. I thought we were brothers.

    Dean would tell himself later that he should have known. He’d done this before and he knew how it all changed when they actually appeared and he should have warned them. Should have told them that he would have shown up.

    All three of the Miltons screamed at Lucifer.

    He was reaching out, reaching forward with pale, damp hands. His skin had long turned the blue-pale of oxygen deprivation, but there was also something to the texture of his skin that was wrong. It wasn’t there in some places, scorched and fallen away like something that had suffered the chill of a nitrogen burn. Something dead and something desirous.

    He looked at Castiel, and he looked so hurt. Brother, he whispered, I am going to deliver us to a new god. A loving god. He just wants the blood, Michael, he just wants the love from inside us.

    Dean and Sam kept digging.

    Give it to me, he said. Give it to me and I’ll give it to him and we’ll all be so happy. We’ll have saved everyone, everyone for-ever and al-ways.

    Castiel felt the wrong warmth of blood flowing out of his nose. “No,” he whispered. “No, please, don’t.”

    “Anna!” Jo shouted. “Anna, keep him safe!”

    Anna swung the crowbar forward, swung right through Lucifer who hissed and reared back. Behind her, Castiel gagged and fell to his knees.

    “We’ve got it!” Sam cried, “We’ve got the bones up!”

    Jo took the gas can Sam had handed her and splashed the liquid over the bones. Dean pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it- one, two, three times before he got the flame and tossed it in.

    Lucifer shrieked terribly and Castiel screamed in pain with him. Spots appeared in Lucifer where he was burning and going hollow, and then all at once he was gone.

    The shuddering sound of Castiel’s breath became the only sound in the room. Sam threw handfuls of salt into with the bones. Dean threw down his shovel and drew his brother into a tight hug.

    “Dean,” Sam said, muffled against his big brother’s chest. “Dean, I’m okay, you’re going to suffocate me.”

    “Castiel?” Anna asked softly. “Castiel, angel, get up.  Castiel, please.”

    Dean let go of Sam and they rushed over.

    Castiel was laying on the ground, the whites of his eyes too visible. He twitched occasionally, a thin line of drool slipping out of his mouth and down his chin.

    “Can you get him to a hospital?” Dean asked. “This is one of those situations where we definitely need a hospital.”

    “Yes,” Jo said. “We can call an ambulance and-”

    Dean threw his keys to his brother. “Get baby,” he said. “We can get him there faster ourselves. Emergency services aren’t equipped to get this far out.”

    Sam was already out of the cave.

    “Don’t move him,” Jo said. “Don’t move him, it could be-”

    “I know,” Dean said. “I know.”

    Jo leaned down and took Castiel’s pulse. She was collected and cool as she thoroughly examined him. “I think he’s in shock,” she finally said. “That’s the only thing it, I mean, I can’t-”

    “He shouldn’t have come,” Dean said, very softly. “I knew- that thing, it, I shouldn’t have let you come.” He leaned forward and brushed Castiel’s hair from his face, a thin bead of sweat trailed down his jaw.

    It was tender, and Anna and Jo made no comment but made a mental note. Saw something strangely soft in this boy that they hadn’t been expecting.

    “You’re not dying,” Dean said. “You’re not allowed to.”

    They heard the asthmatic rumble of the Impala not long after, and soon Sam came back, dragging a board with him. “Makeshift stretcher,” he said. “Called the paramedics, they’re gonna meet us at the park entrance.”

* * *

 

The doctors wouldn't let Cas go. They got to the ambulance at the park entrance, and all four of them had driven to the hospital- Sam and Dean in the Impala, Anna and Jo in an aging Ford from the seventies. They got there minutes behind the ambulance, and then they had been given a room number and an instruction to wait.

           It had been four hours. They sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the cold waiting room- or at least Sam and Anna and Jo did while Dean paced back and forth, back and forth.

           "You don't have to stay," Anna said. "I'm sure you have your own business to go about."

           Dean stopped in place and shook his head. "No," he answered. "We don't have anything. Really."

           "It's a family matter," Anna continued. "We can handle it."

           Dean shook his head now. "No, I can't...I have to make sure he's okay," he said.

           Sam saw the hold of his brother's frame, saw the way he shook in the space. "Dean," he said, quietly.

           "Why?" Anna said. "It's not your responsibility."

           "It is my responsibility," Dean barked. "That's what we do- that's who we are. Those campers didn't make it out and that's on me, and if Cas doesn't...if Cas isn't okay, I can't...we can't-"

           "Dean," Sam repeated. He stood up and grasped his brother's shoulders. "How about we get some coffee, okay?"

           Dean took a deep breath and nodded. They loped off.

           Jo reached over and took her sister's hand.

           "They just want to help," Jo said. "They did help. We'd be fucked without them."

           "It was a family matter," Anna said. “We should have handled it ourselves. We should have known.”

    “But we didn’t,” Jo said. “And I don’t think we could have done it on our own.”

    Anna straightened. “Of course we could have,” she shot back. “We’re Milton’s. We handle our affairs.”

    “Okay, well, we would have figured it out eventually,” she said. “But it would have taken time, time I’m pretty sure we didn’t have.” She stroked her sister’s long red hair. “Anna, they didn’t want to do this either.”

* * *

 

    They couldn’t find a coffee machine, but they did find one that dispensed sodas. They sat down across from the machine and sipped absently at the cold ginger ales.

    “It’s not your fault,” Sam said.

    “I shouldn’t have let them come,” he answered. “I let civilians into the hunt and one of them got hurt. That’s on me. Hell, we hunted again.” He scrubbed his free hand through his hair and bent over a bit. “I promised you we wouldn’t have to, and we did.”

    “It’s not your fault,” Sam repeated. “We weren’t looking for it. You didn’t drag us into it, it just happened. If we’d just left them...Dean, we couldn’t have just left them.” He wrapped his arm over his brother, not quite making it all the way across his brother’s broad back. “This isn’t what Dad did.”

    Dean sat back up and rested his head in his hands. “He got hurt, Sammy,” he said. He looked over at Sam. His voice was hoarse. “What if you’d gotten hurt?”

    Dean had done a lot of the holding over the years, their father poring busily over some long-forgotten text or handling a shotgun deep in the woods or drowning his sorrows in a nearby bar. The space inside Dean’s arms had been home more than anywhere else they had ever been until they moved into the cabin.

    Sam let himself be home for his brother.

* * *

 

    The doctor was a tall man, a work acquaintance of Jo’s.  He guided them into Castiel’s room gently. “Your brother was severely dehydrated, which exacerbated what appears to be very mild anemia. We’re prescribing an iron supplement along with a painkiller for his migraines.”

    Anna sat down on the bed next to her brother, who seemed to be very, very pale and very small. His eyes were shut tight against the low light of the room and his hair was plastered to his head with sweat.

    “Migraines?” Jo asked. “There’s no history of them.”

    “We’re pretty sure it’s related to his concussion,” the Doctor answered. “We’re sorry we couldn’t let you see him sooner, but we needed to run an MRI and he’s incredibly sensitive to any stimuli right now. Jo,” he continued, “he was asking for trepanation at one point, trust me- there was nothing you could do to help.”

    “You had no right,” Jo hissed. “You had no-”

    “When can we take him home?” Anna interrupted, very softly.

    “We’d like to keep him overnight, but if you want him home now, I’m pretty sure we could swing it,” he continued. “If worse comes to worse, Jo can take care of him.”

    “Thanks, Doc,” Jo said as the Doctor nodded and walked off to grab the right paperwork.

    Anna pet Castiel’s hair and he moaned slightly. He blinked awake very, very slowly.

    “Anna,” he said as he brought a hand up to his head. “Hurts.”

    “Shh,” she said. “I know. Gonna get you home soon,” she said. “Gonna be okay.”

    He curled in towards his sister. “Dean,” he asked. “Sam and Dean, they okay?”

    Anna nodded. “Been worried sick about you. They’re in the hospital.”

    “Wanna go home,” Castiel said. “Can they come too?”

    “Sure they can,” Anna answered. “Can get you all tucked into bed and then they can come over for breakfast and-”

    “They’re all alone, Anna,” Castiel said, plaintively. “No one takes care of them.” His voice began to grow choked.

    “Shh, angel, I know,” Anna said. “Don’t cry baby. They’ll come with us, okay? It’ll be okay.”

    Castiel tucked his head a little deeper into Anna’s arm and sighed.

    Anna tried to fathom why her little brother cared about the Winchester brothers so much.

* * *

 

    Jo came down the hallway holding a couple of papers.

    “He wants you,” she said. “Castiel, he wants you to come with us.”

    “Is he okay?” Dean asked, his head darting up from where it was resting on Sam’s shoulder.

    “He’s anemic and apparently got a doozy of a migraine. It’s nothing we can’t manage,” she explained. “He wants you to come home with us, though. He’s insisting.”

    Dean nodded. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I mean, we can come, make sure you’re all ghostproofed and everything.”

    Jo nodded. “Ya’ll should come with me. We’ll be leaving soon.”

* * *

 

    Castiel’s room was dark and cool. Anna sat on the bed with Castiel, who was bent with his head between his knees.

    Anna and Dean locked eyes with each other and held the look for a long moment.

    It was as if there were a fire that lived in Anna that came out in her eyes. Something fierce and tight. This is my brother, the look said. And if you hurt him, so help me god, you shall pay.

    It was a look Sam recognized from Dean.

    “Castiel, your friends are here,” she said quietly.

    He looked up, moving very slowly. He smiled, mouth held tight with pain. “Hi,” he said, and his voice sounded thick and unused. “Are you okay?”

    Dean smiled. “Never better,” he said. “Heard you’ve got a headache, though.”

    “I’ll be okay,” he answered. “Have sisters, they’ll take care of me.” He moved to stand and his legs wobbled underneath him. Dean and Anna both moved forward to steady him, and Castiel’s hands ended up wound through the lapels of Dean’s shirt. He looked at Dean’s collarbones and then lazily, slowly up at Dean’s face. “Want to take care of  you.”

    “Hey,” Dean said. “Hey, I can take care of myself, alright? I’m okay. I’m fine.”

    Castiel shook his head slowly. “Come home,” he said quietly. “Please come home.”

    Dean pulled Castiel’s hands from his shirt and looked into Castiel’s eyes, blurred and wandering with discomfort. “Okay,” Dean answered. “I’ll come home. Let’s get some clothes on you, okay? Get you dressed and then we’ll go home.”

    “Okay,” Castiel said softly. He didn’t make any effort to move other than leaning forward and nuzzling against Dean’s jawline.

    Dean huffed small laughter and supported Castiel’s weight. He looked over Castiel’s head at Anna. “Can we get him dressed?”

    Anna nodded. “Yes, I think he might appreciate that.”

* * *

 

    Dean had found a pair of sunglasses in the Impala, and Jo slid them onto her brother with a nod of thanks. “He’s light sensitive right now,” she said, “and this drive is gonna be long enough as is.”

    “He gonna be okay?” Dean asked. “I think we’ve still got a couple of trash bags in the back for puke.”

    Jo nodded. “Yeah, we’ll be fine. Salt at every doorway and windowsill, yeah?”

    “Yep,” Dean replied. “Iron in easy reach just in case though.”

    “Will do,” Jo answered. “See you for breakfast in the morning?”

    Dean eased into his car. “Sure thing,” he called before shutting the door.

    Sam was in the passenger seat, curled up against the door. It was late- nearly midnight- and he was exhausted. “We don’t have to wake up early for breakfast, do we?”

    Dean shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, we don’t.”

    Sam sighed contentedly and curled into the door a little tighter. “Good,” he said. “Today was long.”

    Dean smiled a little. “Yeah,” he said. “It was.”

* * *

 

    They got home easily enough. Town was small enough that there weren’t really streetlights, but passing near them made Castiel whimper from his place laid across the back seat. They finally got to the house, and Anna and Jo both took either of his arms and guided him slowly through the dark hallways to his room.

    They laid him down on his bed and he sighed down deep into his blankets. “Where’s Dean?” he asked sleepily.

    “He’ll be here in the morning, I promise, sweetie,” Jo said as she pulled the covers evenly over his shoulders.

    Castiel frowned and tugged the sunglasses off clumsily. “But I want him to stay,” he said, yawning. “He thinks...but he’s wrong, Jo, but he’s good.”

    “I know, baby, I know,” Jo soothed. “I know.”

    Castiel fell asleep quickly, and Jo and Anna slipped silently from his room.

    They sat in their living room, the room full of lamplight.

    “He really likes the Winchester brothers,” Anna said.

    “No,” Jo replied. “He really likes the Winchester brother.”

    “He keeps talking about them like they’re...like they’re children,” Anna continued.

    “He feels for them,” her sister said. “He feels, so deeply sometimes. Remember the bird when he was little? It was injured and it didn’t make it through the night. He cried for days and days and days.”

    “And those things out there,” Jo said, moving swiftly from topic to topic. “What was that? Vampires? Werewolves? Ghosts? Anna what have we...what have we gotten ourselves into?”

    “I don’t know,” Anna answered. “But you did mention something about salt.”

* * *

 

    The house was dark and cool when they got back. Dean leaned across the seats and gntly shook his brother awake.

    “Hey, come on, Sammy,” he said softly. “Lets check out your hand and then get you to bed.”

    “It’s fine,” Sam grumbled, sleepily. “Doesn’  even hurt.”

    “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean answered. “I’m sure it doesn’t. Humor me, okay?”

    Sam sat at the kitchen table while Dean quickly checked the stitches- all of them in place- and quickly went over the wound with peroxide once more and a slathering of antibiotic ointment. He bandaged it back up.

    “Okay, kiddo,” Dean said. “Get out of these clothes and into bed.”

    Sam nodded sleepily and shuffled off to his own room.

    There was a relief after a hunt, a weight that shifted off of the shoulders and into a purified grave. There was a safety that Dean knew was false, but felt right anyway. He slumped down onto their overstuffed, beat-to-hell couch. He sighed and felt the tight knot loosen in his chest.

    Safe, he thought. They were safe. He looked at the windows and the doors and the even lines of salt and felt that knot loosen even more.

    He fell asleep on the couch, the dirt of the grave still under his fingernails.

* * *

 

    It was a persistent buzzing over his left breast, a sensation that refused to stop.

    Dean swatted at it a few times, but it kept going, over and over and over.

    Dean tugged the offending object from his shirt before opening it with fumbling hands and holding it to his ear.

    “Hello?” he said, groggy.

    “Dean Winchester we have made breakfast and if you and your brother are not over quite soon, Jo and I shall be over and we shall have words, am I quite clear,” a voice nagged into his ear.

    “Yes ma’am,” Dean said. “Be over shortly.”

    He got up from the couch,  aching and sore. All of his muscles were stiff from his odd sleeping position, which exacerbated the soreness from digging yesterday. He groaned as he stood and felt urgency in his bladder.

“Gotta go get breakfast, Sammy,” Dean called as he walked to the bathroom. “Get up.

Sam moaned from his bedroom and rolled out of bed. “You said we got to sleep in,” he groaned. “Lying jerk.”

“I know,” Dean said. “I’m a real sonuvabitch.”  He flushed and washed his hands, walking into his brother’s room. “Anna really had her panties in a twist, let’s hustle, eh?”

Sam sighed heavily and stomped into his shoes. “Them Miltons, they don’t make a lick of sense.”

“Those Miltons,” Dean corrected. “Yeah, I don’t get them either. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Castiel woke up with a headache, but it was nothing like the thing that had been driving slowly through his eyes through the night. He slid the sunglasses back on, and the pain eased slightly. He shuffled out of bed and to the kitchen, still wearing just his boxers and an undershirt.

“Mornin’, Ray Charles,” Jo greeted. “Coffee on the table.”

“Thanks,” he grumbled, sitting down heavily at the table.

“How’s the head?” She asked, setting an omelette down on the table in front of him.

“Still sensitive,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Doesn’t like the light.”

Jo nodded. “Wanna give you a look in a little bit, make sure you’re not going to explode, alright?”

Castiel nodded serenely.

There was bliss in a cup of coffee, he decided. Black and bitter and hot and perfect, it curled warm in his belly and soothed the fire in his brain. He slowly ate his omelette- mushrooms and cheese- and sipped at his coffee until there was a knock at the door. He looked up at his sister as Anna moved from the living room to get the door.

Castiel was content to believe that his sisters wouldn’t have any guests over until he heard the sleep-rough voices of the Winchester brothers in their anteroom. He nearly choked on his coffee.

    “Mornin’, Cas,” Dean greeted as he sauntered into the kitchen. “Love the bedhead. Good look for you.”

    Castiel was still coughing, choking on his breakfast. He finally managed to rasp out, “Thank you, Dean.”

    Sam sat down across from him at the round table, looking for all the world very much like a young person who had just woken up. His rough mop of dark hair was unsettled around his face, and his eyes were squinted heavily with exhaustion.

    “Good morning, Sam,” Castiel greeted.

    Sam yawned heavily in response.

    Dean hadn’t sat down yet, instead looking over the kitchen. “Ya’lls place looks pretty good for just having moved in.”

    Jo laughed. “The kitchen is Anna’s workshop more than anything. Rest of the house looks nothing like this, I promise.”

    Dean conspicuously dipped his pinky finger into a pot of bright-yellow sauce and tasted it. He grimaced. “What does she do?” He asked.

    “Writes for a magazine,” Castiel answered. “Does the whole ‘Martha Stewart’ thing.”

    Dean looked surprised. “Really?” he continued. “I would have pegged her for a politician or a lion tamer or a police chief.”

    Anna laughed as she came into the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “You’d be surprised how cut-throat the more traditional women’s realms are, Dean.” She took a sip from her beverage. “I’ve been to brunches that very nearly ended in bloodshed.”

    Dean leaned against a counter and grinned. “No shit?” he asked. “I shoulda known. Way you handled yourselves out there,” he jerked his head over his shoulder in the rough direction of the woods, “I knew it couldn’t have been your first time out there.”

    Jo slid a mug into Dean’s hand. “That’s actually why we wanted to speak with you,” she said.

    “What the hell is it that you actually do?” Anna asked.

    Sam yawned, and it made his face crumple.

    “Well,” Dean said. “Sam’s a high school freshman, and I’m a ranger at a forest and lake. Our Dad is unemployed and hasn’t drawn actual income in about fifteen years.” He set the mug on the counter and gingerly filled it with coffee. “There are warrants out for his arrest in five states for crimes including credit card fraud, assault, and grave desecration.” He took a drink from his mug. “I ran into issues with truancy until I got my GED.”

There was a stillness and uncomfortable silence in the room.

“Beautiful coffee,” Dean said. “Anyway, that’s who we are on paper- John, Sam, and Dean Winchester. That’s the official line.”

“What’s your line?” Anna asked.

Dean smiled. “Dad’s a hunter. I guess I am, too, and Sammy, if he wants to be. We grew up on the road. Saving people, hunting things- it’s the family business. There’s stuff out there, bad stuff, and we take care of it.”

“You’re soldiers,” Jo said.

“Well,” Dean shrugged. “Basically.”

Sam’s stomach growled loudly, and he looked sleepily at his brother.

“Can we get some breakfast in my brother?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Jo said. “Yeah, sure thing. We’ve got some bacon in the oven and some biscuits and I can do an omelette or something.”

“Sorry,” Sam said.

“Don’t apologize,” Jo said, pulling a cookie sheet from the oven. “Let’s get you fed.”

    “Please,” Anna gestured to Dean. “Take a seat. You’re a guest.”

    Dean smiled. “Aw, thanks,” He said, sitting down next to Castiel. “Feel a little overdressed though.”

    Castiel blushed. “Excuse me. I’ll go get chan-”

    “No, don’t leave,” Dean interrupted. “I was just giving you hell.” He smiled, and Castiel felt warm through his chest. Dean pointed to the omlette. “What’s in your eggs?”

   “Mushrooms,” Castiel answered. “They’re nearly a complete protein source.”

   “Speaking of,” Anna said, “your oatmeal, Castiel.” She placed a bowl to the right of him.

    Jo placed a plate with bacon and some scrambled eggs in front of Sam. “Thank you ma’am,” Sam said, smiling sleepily.

    “Oh my god, Anna, can we keep him?” Jo said in response. Sam turned pink with embarrassment as he chewed on a strip of bacon.

    Dean shook his head. “No, he’s got chores back at the cabin. Besides, I promised Dad I wouldn’t let him get in trouble.”

    “Why does everyone think ‘m gonna get into trouble?” Sam asked. “I’m thirteen, I’m not a kid.”

    Dean smiled roguishly. “I know, Sammy.” He reached across the table and tugged a strip of bacon from his brother’s plate.

    “What would you like in your eggs?” Jo asked. “We’ve got peppers and onions and mushrooms and some chorizo, I’m sure.”

    “What the hell is chorizo?” Dean asked, standing to look over Jo’s shoulder.

    Anna swatted at him with a dish towel. “Language,” she reprimanded.

    “It’s a sausage,” Jo clarified. “It’s Portuguese- lots of spice and vinegar and acid. Good stuff, you’ll like it. Sit back down, you’re in the way.” She reached around him and into the fridge, pulling out a white package. She unwrapped it, reverently, and nestled in the paper was a red coil.  “If you insist on being useful,” Jo said to him, “grab a frying pan from the hanger.”

    Dean turned around and spotted the hanging pans. He went for a hanging steel skillet, but it was stuck on the clip, determined. He fought with it for a long, fraught moment when it suddenly snapped off and dashed forcefully through the air and into Dean’s nose.

    “Augh!” Dean shouted. “Fuck!” He dropped the  pan and it landed heavily on his toes.

    Castiel stood up and dashed over to him, pulling up his face to meet his sunshaded gaze.

    From behind the dark glasses, Dean’s eyes were tearing up and blood was flowing freely from his nose. “What the fuck,” he said hoarsely, “is with this week and injuries?”

    Castiel slid the sunglasses down his nose and squinted in discomfort. “It’s not broken,” he said. “Here, let me show you the bathroom and get you cleaned up.”

    He led Dean out of the kitchen and down a hallway, dimly lit by the sunlight leaking out of rooms. Castiel pushed Dean into a bathroom and slid the sunglasses a little down his nose so he could peer up over the edge to look at Dean’s injury.

    “Let  me get a washcloth and just,” he said, turning on the tap. “I’m sorry.”

    “It’s fine,” Dean said, soothing. “Not my first nosebleed.”

    Castiel pulled a white washcloth from a drawer and wet it. He wrung it out and leaned forward through the room and very gently began to wipe the blood from his nose and his lip.

    Dean could only catch the smell of blood in the room, but something in his brain began to supply extra information. And imagined idea of Castiel’s coffee breath and strange after-sleeping funk from waking up.

    The texture of the washcloth was thick and soft, and soon the blood was gone from his face and neck.

    “Oh,” Castiel said, looking down. “Your shirt.” He placed the washcloth, now pink with blood, on the vanity. “You can borrow one of mine. Come on.”

    The walk from the bathroom to Castiel’s bedroom was short, and though sunbright, it was much , much darker than the bathroom. Castiel took off his sunglasses and laid them on a dark, heavy desk. All of the furniture in the room was dark and heavy- carved elaborately from dark wood. A few sets of clothes were scattered on the floor, and a slew of books were pulled out a large box- the largest one.

    Dean picked up a slim volume. The Great Gatsby, it read.

    “I never got into Fitzgerald,” he said.

    Castiel looked up from the edge of a box, digging around, in vain, for a dark colored shirt. “The story isn’t for everyone, but Fitzgerald does such things with imagery. The use of flowers is...beautiful.”

    Dean smiled. “Yeah, I guess. The bit with the party, it sounded really good there. It’s can be kinda hard to find books that do that the right way. Feel like sometimes the writers use so many words to hide what they’re really saying.”

    Castiel tossed a shirt to him. He caught it and set the book down on the desk.

    He tugged off his own, bloodied shirt when Castiel gasped.

    Dean placed the shirt on the table and said, “What?”

    Castiel’s head cocked to the side, like it was driven inexorably by gravity on one side. “You’re,” he said soft. “You’re...this...”

    Dean looked down and saw what Castiel was seeing.

    He shook his head. “It’s old,” he said. “It was like my third or fourth hunt and I got clawed. It wasn’t that bad. Barely a scratch, I promise.”

    It had been a whole hell of  lot more than a scratch, actually. It had been the worst wound in his life and had burned, burned burned like fire as Dad stitched him up and tried to keep him calm. Couldn’t even give him a painkiller as he worked, either-  Dad was worried it would make him bleed out faster. He’d almost died.

    It didn’t do any good to tell Castiel that, though.

    Castiel walked into a box, moving over to Dean, but they both ignored the falter. His hand shook as he reached forward and laid it over the slash of a scar. His hands were cool and Dean’s skin was warm.

    He looked up at Dean, still in his pajamas.

    His eyes were blue, still squinted slightly from discomfort. His skin was flushed and stubble was just beginning to press out of his jawline. His hair was a mess. His lips were chapped.

    Dean leaned forward and very, very gently, laid a kiss on Castiel’s lips.

    Castiel’s round nails dug into Dean’s chest as he was kissed, and Dean wasn’t even aware he was crying until he felt something warm drip down his neck.

    Casitel pulled back. “Please,” he whispered. “I want to know.”

    Dean laughed reflexively. “What?” He asked.

    “Everything,” Castiel said. “Tell me, please. I want to know everything you want to tell me, and if that’s nothing, that’s okay, too, I guess.” He wiped at his own eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, laughing back.

    Dean kissed him again.

    When he pulled away, he looked at Castiel and said, “I think I can do that.”

    Castiel nodded. “I think,” he said, breathily, “that maybe we should get dressed first.”

    Dean laughed again. “Yeah,” he said in response. “Yeah, I reckon we should, what with your sisters and my brother.”

  
  
  



End file.
